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This this is sorrow's deadliest curse,
Nor hate, nor hell, can form a worse !

Take wealth–I know its paltry worth;

Take honour-it will pass away; Take power-I scorn the bounded earth;

Take pomp—its trappings soon decay: But spare me, grant me Pity's tear, To sooth my woe, and dew my bier.

PERSUASIONS TO LOVE.

CAREW.

Think not, 'cause men flatt'ring say,
You're fresh as April, sweet as May,
Bright as is the morning star,
That you are so; or though you are,
Be not therefore proud, and deem
All men unworthy your esteem;

Nor let brittle beauty make
You your wiser thoughts forsake!
For that lovely face will fail :
Beauty 's sweet, but beauty 's frail ;
'Tis sooner past, 'tis sooner done,
Than summer's rain, or winter's sun ;
Most fleeting when it is most dear;
'Tis gone, while we but say 'tis here!
These curious locks, so aptly twin'd,
Whose ev'ry hair a soul doth bind,
Will change their auburn hue, and grow
White and cold as winter's snow.
That eye, which now is Cupid's nest,
Will prove his grave; and all the rest

Will follow; in the cheek, chin, nose,
Nor lily shall be found, nor rose.
And what will then become of all
Those whom now you servants call ?
Like swallows, when your summer's done,
They'll fly, and seek some warmer sun.
Then wisely chuse one to your friend,
Whose love may (when your beauties end)
Remain still firm : be provident,
And think before the summer 's spent,
Of following winter : like the ant
In plenty hoard for time of scant.

For when the storms of time have mov'd Waves on that cheek which was belov’d; When a fair lady's face is pin'd, And yellow spread where red once shin'd; When beauty, youth, and all sweets leave her, Love may return, but lover never ! Oh, love me then ! and now begin it; Let us not lose this present minute ! For time and age will work that wrack, Which time or age shall ne'er call back. The snake each year fresh skin resumes, And eagles change their aged plumes; The faded rose each spring receives A fresh red tincture on her leaves; But if your beauties once decay, You never know a second May.' Oh then be wise! and, whilst your season Affords you days for sport, do reason ! Spend not in vain your life's short hour, But crop in time your beauty's flow'r, Which will away, and doth together · Both bud and fade, both blow and wither!

THE MARINER'S DREAM.

DIMOND.
In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay,
His hammock swung loose at the sport of the

wind:
But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,

And visions of happiness danc'd o'er his mind.

He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bow'rs,
And pleasures that waited on Life's merry

morn;
While mem’ry each scene gaily covered with

flow'rs, And restor'd ev'ry rose, but secreted its thorn.

W

Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide,

And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise ; Now far, far behind him the green waters glide,

And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes,

The jessamine clambers in flow'r o'er the thatch,
And the swallow chirps sweet from her nest in

the wall;
All trembling with transport, he raises the latch,

And the voices of lov'd ones reply to his call.

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight;
His cheek is bedew'd with a mother's warm

tear;
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds

dear.

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast,

Joy quickens his pulses, his hardships seem o'er; And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest“ O God! thou hast bless'd me, I ask for no

more.”

Ah! whence is that flame which now glares on his

eye? Ah! what is that sound which now bursts on his

ear? 'Tis the lightning's red gleam, painting hell on the

sky! 'Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the

sphere !

He springs from his hammock, he flies to the deck,

Amazement confronts him with images direWild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck The masts fly in splinters—the shrouds are on

fire.

Like mountains the billows tremendously swell

In vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save : Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, And the Death-Angel flaps his broad wing o'er

the wave!

Oh! Sailor Boy, woe to thy dream of delight!

Indarkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss Where now is the picture that fancy touch'd bright, Thy parents' fond pressure, and Love's honied

* kiss ?

Ob, Sailor Boy! Sailor Boy! never again

Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay; Unbless'd, and unhonour'd, down deep in the main

Full many a fathom, thy frame shall decay.

No tomb shall e'er plead to Remembrance for thee, Or redeem form or fame from the merciless

surgeBut the white foam of waves shall thy winding

sheet be, And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge!

On a bed of sea-green flower thy limbs shall be laid;

Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow; Of thy fair yellow locks, threads of amber be made,

And every part suit to thy mansion below.

Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away,

And still the vast waters above thee shall roll; Frail short-sighted mortals their doom must obey

Ob, Sailor Boy! Sailor Boy! peace to thy soul !

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.

CAMPBELL.

Que bugles sung truce; for the night-cloud had

lower'd, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground over

power'd,
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,

By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw;

And twice ere the cock-crow I dreamt it again :

Methought, from the battle-field's dreadful array,

Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track,

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